


all that sappy, gooey kind of stuff

by jaegermighty



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 23:08:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4456043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaegermighty/pseuds/jaegermighty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>goo·ey (ˈɡo͞oē/)<br/>adjective (informal)</p>
<p>1. soft and sticky.<br/>synonyms:	sticky, viscous, viscid</p>
<p>2. mawkishly sentimental.<br/>"you can love somebody without going all gooey"<br/>synonyms:	sentimental, mawkish, cloying, sickly, saccharine, sugary, syrupy</p>
            </blockquote>





	all that sappy, gooey kind of stuff

**Author's Note:**

> from a prompt by getcozywithtposey!! xx

Iris isn’t exactly in the habit of keeping track of the people who come through the library--Barry does, but Barry’s just like that, he knows everybody’s first name and their pet’s name and their favorite flavor of ice cream and their Starbucks order within the first three minutes of meeting them. It’s something she loves and appreciates about her best friend for sure, but Iris herself just doesn’t have enough room in her head to keep all that information handy; she has trouble remembering her own PIN number, for God’s sake. 

So it’s with a vague air of hazy recognition that Iris greets the harried, rumpled looking woman who staggers to the Information Desk one Tuesday morning, clearly about to collapse beneath the weight of her own bulging laptop bag. “Hello,” Iris says, squinting and thinking, _I know I’ve seen her before--student? Definitely a student. She has a class here. Maybe?_ “Can I--”

“Oh no,” the woman interrupts, utterly unconcerned with the fact that Iris had been in the middle of a sentence. Iris frowns at her, but she’s looking down, digging in her purse. “Oh God, not again. I’m gonna kill him.” She looks up and blinks, apparently just noticing that Iris exists, and grimaces. Iris frowns deeper. “I’m so sorry, I just--he took my key. I was supposed to turn in my key today but he took it, right out of my purse probably, because he thinks that kind of thing is funny, to just take things without asking, and oh my God I’m so sorry. I’m babbling. Caitlin Snow is my name.”

Iris blinks at her, taking in the white-knuckle death grip she’s got on her purse, and the trembling edges of her mouth, and revises her mental assessment from _rude_ to _extremely stressed out._ It is Hell week, after all. “Um,” says Iris, “that’s alright. Are you...talking about one of the study room keys? Because we have duplicates. Actually--they’re all the same lock, so if you have one you have them all, we’re just not supposed to tell people that.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” the woman--Caitlin Snow--insists, forcibly unclenching her hands from her bag. “Do you know Cisco Ramon? Well, probably not, of course you don’t know him, nobody knows Cisco outside of his lab assistants and those...robots of his. He’s a research fellow under Dr. Sachdeva, and he’s the one who has your key. I will fully support you if you want to press charges. Oh God, am I babbling again?”

“No,” Iris says, tamping down a laugh. 

“You had a look on your face like I was babbling,” Caitlin says skeptically. 

“I frequently get a look on my face when I get accosted by cute girls with missing study room keys,” Iris says, kicking herself the moment the words escape. She can’t _flirt._ This is a student, what’s wrong with her?

Thankfully, Caitlin Snow of the missing key doesn’t seem to notice, too busy scribbling something on one of the comment cards they keep on the desk, next to the much-maligned, controversial condom jar that Iris and Barry had implemented last semester. If the board won’t let them install floodlights in the non-fiction section, then they’re going to have to resign themselves to the fact that it’s the most popular hook up spot on campus and deal accordingly, is Iris’ position on the subject.

“Here,” Caitlin says, “this is his private office number. I’d give you his cell number, but he doesn’t have one--he keeps blowing them up? Apparently? Not that I’m expecting you to take responsibility to track the key down, of course not! I fully intend to take care of the issue personally, but I want you to be kept in the loop, and Cisco is very susceptible to guilt trips. So--if the need arises for the key, you know--”

“We have like twenty copies,” Iris interrupts, amused.

“Well, if you run out,” Caitlin says primly. “Again--it’s the principle of the thing.”

“This Cisco,” Iris says, wracking her memory for the name--Barry probably knows him, if he does science-y stuff, she can ask later. “Does he always...take stuff out of your purse? Seems like kind of a crappy sort of guy to hang around with if that’s the case.”

“Oh, no, he thinks it’s funny,” Caitlin says, sort of long-suffering and fond, at the same time. “He never steals money or anything like that--he’s got investments or something, I don’t know. He got cash to burn, trust me. He just...takes things he knows that I’m looking for? To ‘keep me on my toes,’ he says.” She sighs, looking very much in need of a long nap. And maybe a nice, relaxing massage. With--Iris cuts off that train of thought abruptly. “Sorry. I’m such a mess today; you must think I’m a total trainwreck.”

“I’ve met trainwrecks, and you are no trainwreck,” Iris says, tucking Mr. Cisco Ramon’s private office number into her pocket. “Look--don’t worry about the key, okay? Like I said--we’ve got plenty of duplicates. People lose them all the time and eventually they make their way back to the library--that’s why we have so many. It’s really not a big deal.”

“It’s still--”

“The principle of the thing, yeah,” Iris finishes with a smile, unable to stop herself from reaching out to squeeze Caitlin’s arm comfortingly. It’s surprisingly solid with muscle; maybe she plays sports or something. “I’ll have a talk with Cisco. Don’t worry about it--just get out of here, okay? Do me a favor and take a coffee break or something.”

“A coffee break?” Caitlin asks, as if the concept is completely foreign to her.

“Yeah. Or a jog, or a nap, or a drink--whatever you do to relax, you know? Hell week is...well, hell. Gotta keep your blood sugar up, or whatever it is they say at those health and wellness lectures.”

Caitlin still looks faintly confused, but she smiles, tentatively. It’s the first one in this entire conversation, and Iris finds it endearing, especially with how awkward Caitlin makes it look--this is not a woman to whom smiling comes very easily, Iris can tell. For some reason, Iris finds that unbearably charming. “Okay,” she says slowly, “I might just do that.”

“Great,” Iris says. “Seriously don’t worry about the key. Do you need...help? With that bag? Man, how many books do you need to carry around, anyway?”

“Books? Oh no, these are papers,” Caitlin says, hefting her bag up onto her shoulder again. Maybe that’s where the muscles come from, Iris thinks wryly. “It’s fine. Listen--thank you...what was your name?”

“Iris West,” Iris says. “Librarian,” she adds, and winces internally. That was weird. 

“Thank you, Ms. West,” Caitlin says with another smile, this one a tad more natural. “I swear I’m not normally this...you know.”

“Hell week,” Iris says sympathetically.

“Yes, well,” Caitlin says with a shrug. She waves as she staggers away, and Iris absolutely does not watch her teeter her way out the front door and down the front path. Nope. Not even a remote possibility that she would do that, because it’s incredibly inappropriate to ogle a student in such a manner, even if said student is wearing five inch heels and a pencil skirt that shows off her legs. Who wears a skirt like that in December, seriously?

The I-Desk phone rings suddenly and Iris answers it on instinct, jolted out of her guilty, befuddled haze. “Leawood Library Information Desk, this is Iris--”

“Who were you talking to?” Barry demands, and Iris looks over at the checkout desk to see him crouched by the book return, waggling his eyebrows at her from across the library floor. 

“Barry!” Iris hisses. “Nobody! I’m working, we’re working! Why are you calling me, you’re tying up the line!”

“You’ve got a dopey look on your face and I heard high heels, was it that girl from the taco place, did she come to visit you again? Because I told you she was dodgy--”

“Nobody, it was just a student, I’m not dopey,” Iris says, deliberately turning her back to him. This is why she hates it when he works down here on the first floor--he’s so annoying. “Also shut _up_.”

“A student?!” Barry replies gleefully. “No way--”

“Shut up, I am working,” Iris says, feeling her cheeks flush.

“Yeah you’re _working_ it alright, Mrs. Robinson--”

“Shut up,” Iris says one last time, and hangs up on him. She can hear his braying, donkey-like laugh from across the library floor.

This is why people don’t work with their best friends, Iris thinks, and resolutely goes back to work. She was _not_ dopey. As if.

 

 

She’s totally dopey. 

She sees Caitlin twice more before the semester ends, once again in the library (walking briskly up the stairs towards the classrooms with that bulging laptop bag and the impractical high heels) and once on the quad, as Iris is heading for her car to go pick up some takeout from lunch. Caitlin is standing on the steps of the biology building, talking to a guy with huge biceps and a wholesome, handsome face. Iris doesn’t stop walking, but she does slow down, and as she’s watching Caitlin reaches up to hug the man, and Iris berates herself for feeling disappointed all the way to Quizno’s and back. 

She spends the majority of the winter break finishing the giant “to be recatalogued” pile on her desk and commiserating with Linda, who as usual, thinks Iris’ utter ineptitude when it comes to romance is just the most hilarious thing ever.

“Okay, so she’s a student, but,” Linda says, after she’s stopped giggling about it, “you’re a librarian, not a professor. So _technically_ it wouldn’t--”

“Oh my _God_ Linda,” Iris says.

“Well, she’s probably an upperclassman, at least! I can’t see you getting all starry-eyed over some eighteen year old stress ball. Now a _twenty-two_ year old stress ball, that could be interesting.”

Iris sighs glumly into her wine. “Even if I agree with you, she very probably has a boyfriend. And even if she doesn’t, she’s very probably straight, considering my luck. So.”

“So, you need to get out more,” Linda concludes. “Some rando in a pencil skirt shouldn’t make you this bummed, no matter how cute she was.”

“You might have a point there,” mutters Iris, who can’t actually remember the last time she went out to dinner with someone who wasn’t...well, Linda. Or Barry. Neither of whom count. 

“Exactly, so I’ve got you covered,” Linda says briskly. Iris sighs in resignation. “Don’t worry about it.”

This is usually a cue for Iris to worry about it, especially with Linda, who is an enthusiastic and dedicated friend with very incompatible taste with Iris’ in almost everything, but well--Barry would be worse. So the bulk of her post-Christmas pre-New Year time off is spent going on various blind dates with various “my friend from work has a gay niece”-esque contacts of Linda’s, and well...Iris gets a lot of free food out of it, at least.

Barry starts a chart to keep track of them because he’s the worst, taking great pleasure in interrogating her after each date to update his data. He at least has the decency to keep it at Iris’ place and not his, which also happens to be her dad’s house. So there’s that small mercy.

“So,” Barry says briskly, tapping his dry erase marker against his chin, “Lucille the sous chef, who was very polite and funny in a schoolteacher kind of way was too boring, but,” he pauses to draw a line between two columns on the chart, punctuating it with an exclamation mark, “Raquel the waitress with pink hair and the septum piercing was too wild. Man, you’re harder to please than Goldilocks.”

“Please,” Iris says with a scoff. “Don’t act like it’s unreasonable to want someone who’s interesting to talk to, but also won’t get me arrested for something. I don’t think that’s an unfair requirement.”

“You know,” Barry says thoughtfully, “there’s this cop I met down at the station, Renee something, I think she’s gay. Maybe--”

“You want me to date a cop?” Iris asks incredulously. “Like...someone who answers to my dad every day? He signs their paychecks, Barry.”

“Fine, never mind then,” Barry says huffily, tossing the marker aside and flopping down next to her on the couch. “What’s with the sudden dating spree anyway? I know Linda sort of talked you into it, but c’mon. I haven’t seen you like this since Becky Cooper dumped you in high school.”

Iris cringes. Not her best moment. “I dunno, I guess I’m just...lonely.” She shrugs, picking at the blanket that covers her couch, a recent Christmas gift from her dad. “You know I love you, Bear, and I’ve got plenty of friends and all, but...I dunno. I’m sick of never having anyone who’s just mine, you know? Does that make sense?”

“Of course,” Barry says, squeezing her hand. Iris squeezes back, comforted by the wave of familiar affection that washes over her with his smile. “Maybe...online dating? Not Tinder. But--do you remember my friend Hal? He met someone on OkCupid and it’s going great. From the way he talked about it, it’s only sleazy if you make it that way.”

“Maybe,” Iris says. "I’ll think about it.”

“You’ll meet someone,” Barry promises. “You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met, Iris, which is probably why you haven’t found anyone yet. You’re just...uniquely awesome, and there’s a severe shortage of people in the world who deserve you.”

“Stop it,” Iris grumbles, ducking her face against the back of the couch, embarrassed. “You’re so _gooey,_ Barry Allen.”

“Oh please, like you’re not,” Barry teases. Iris sighs; yeah, she really is. She’s starting to think that might be her problem.

 

 

The beginning of the spring semester is maybe Iris’ favorite time of year ever; the students are usually hyped to get back, but realistically so, only a month out from their finals, and the weather usually warms up quickly once they get past January. Iris is aware that it’s a cliche, considering her name and everything, but--she loves spring. She really does. She always feels that much more alive.

So it’s March when she sees Caitlin again, and being in a particularly good March, Iris is in a very good mood. Caitlin, however, is clearly not, which Iris suspects is...maybe due more to her personality rather than an unfortunate coincidence. Weirdly, Iris doesn’t find this off-putting. Maybe it’s the heels.

“Hi,” Caitlin greets, rather briskly, as she reaches the Information Desk. She actually had to wait this time, as Iris had given directions to the reference section to a freshman. “Iris. Um. It’s nice to see you again.”

“Right, yes! Hi!” Iris sees Caitlin’s eyes widen at her enthusiasm and winces to herself. Dial down the sunshine, says the little internal Barry in her head that pops up at moments like this. Not everyone can handle it. “Caitlin Snow, I remember you. Don’t tell me your key got stolen again.”

“Um, no,” Caitlin replies, clearly taken aback. She doesn’t have a laptop bag this time, only a purse, and a little spiral notebook tucked under her arm. She also looks supremely stressed out, little lines of tension around her eyes and mouth. “No, fortunately not. Cisco told me he returned it weeks ago; I do hope he wasn’t fibbing...?”

“Nope,” Iris says brightly. “Brought it here himself. Apparently you put the fear of God in him, or at least that’s what he said.”

“Good,” Caitlin replies firmly. “I’m glad.”

She seems to pause, and just stands there, gripping her notebook tightly and frowning down at her shoes. Iris just smiles, trying her best to look nonthreatening and welcoming. She’s told that she's a very calming person to be around, but she’s not sure if that’s completely true. It was her dad who said it, after all. 

“So,” she says after a moment, “did you want to rent out another study room, or...?”

“No,” Caitlin blurts. “I mean--yes, I do need to reserve one. I do that every semester, actually, but usually I just call, so that’s not really why I’m here.”

“Okay,” Iris replies slowly, “did you need...some information? Because this is the Information Desk. I can help with that.”

“I--well yes, I suppose. I mean--oh, that’s so cheesy, I can’t say that.” Caitlin ducks her head, a little flushed around her cheekbones. Iris watches it deepen, fascinated. “I guess...I do hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but I was hoping that...well, if you’re so inclined, and it’s no offense if you’re not, of course, but...I have a gift certificate? For a restaurant?” Iris blinks at her, uncomprehending, and Caitlin looks down at her shoes again. “I knew I should’ve just sent you an email, God I’m bad at this.”

“Are you, uh,” Iris says, squinting at her. She’s got a funny feeling in her stomach, the kind of fluttery sensation she hasn’t felt in a long time. Since...well, Becky Cooper, maybe. “I...really don’t know what you’re trying to say, I’m sorry. Is this--”

“I can see the library from my office,” Caitlin blurts, and flushes again. “That’s...less creepy than it sounds, I swear. I’m sorry, it’s just--I’ve seen you around? For quite awhile? And I always thought you were...well. But I’ve never spoken to you, until that time...a few months ago, and I just--Cisco convinced me I should...ask. Because you never know until you ask. So I’m asking.”

“Asking me what?” Iris says blankly, then gasps. “Your office! You mean, your office. Because...you’re a _professor.”_ She feels a grin break out on her face, so large it makes her cheeks ache.

“Um, yes?” Caitlin says, perplexed. “I teach genetics. That’s why I...”

“Reserve the study room! Yeah, of course, I knew that, I was just--don’t worry about it.” Iris waves it away quickly, embarrassed. Yikes--she should’ve known, she’s such a ditz. Students don’t wear _pencil skirts._ God, Barry’s never gonna let her live this one down. “So, uh, the asking--was that you...asking me out? To a restaurant?”

“I have a gift certificate,” Caitlin says again, still quite stiff, and Iris laughs. This is so cute, why is this so cute? “I, er.” Caitlin glances down at her notebook quickly, then looks back up, firming her jaw. “We could also get coffee? If you wanted.”

“Or go for a jog?” Iris suggests, still grinning. Man, what a day. This really is the best March ever. “Take a nap, go for a drink?” 

“Something relaxing,” Caitlin agrees, catching on. Her grip on her purse loosens, just a bit, and a smile starts to emerge. “If you are inclined, of course.”

“Oh, I’m inclined,” Iris says happily, grabbing one of the comment cards and scrawling her cell number on it. She can barely keep still long enough to make it legible; she’s almost giddy with excitement. “I already took my lunch but I usually get done around five. That’s my number and you should text me. I like Italian, and Thai, and--well, okay, I like everything, but I’m allergic to shellfish. I really like that top, by the way, it brings out your eyes.”

Caitlin looks kind of overwhelmed, palming the card and tucking it into her purse. Iris just keeps grinning--she’s so _cute._ She’s asking Iris out, and she’s so cute! “Oh, well--thank you, um. I have office hours until six, but--”

“I can wait,” Iris says with a shrug. “There’s always work to do.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that, about libraries,” Caitlin says, a bit sly, and a little bit more confident now. Her knuckles aren't white anymore, and the blush is still there, but she's smiling, and it makes her look lovely--windswept and sort of awkward, yet still somehow flawlessly put together. Like an incredibly skilled painting with some messy paint smudges on the frame. “Keys going missing all the time and such.”

“Yeah, I mean we have duplicates, but it’s the principle of the thing,” Iris says, and Caitlin smiles, finally, a real one. Iris smiles back and thinks, _finally. Finally, it’s happening to me._


End file.
